Yes I know it's been a really long time. I'm sorry - have been a rather busy bee! Well, this is basically the last chapter. I know, I know. I am planning a bit of an Epilogue, but basically... Anyway again apologies for the wait! Please Review/Comment.

John was still stunned by the wreck of the door. To be truthful it probably wasn't the shock of what Sherlock had done - John had seen him do worse, nor was it his disregard for safety - his own or anyone else's, that again was usual. Only that he could sense it was not logic driving Sherlock, it was emotion. John wasn't saying that Sherlock didn't feel emotion, he certainly understood it - you could see that every day when he tried to manipulate people. He relished the few moments when a flicker of confusion danced across his companions eyes. No, it was the detective's worst nightmare. Sentiment. How many times had he had to prompt Sherlock on that motive? John had lost count. Yet here he was staring at what that motivator had done to Sherlock. It was an act of emotion, affection, dare he even think it...love.

His next rush of thought was how he should react to this situation. He had heard no gunfire, but had been left no instructions or indicators from Sherlock on what he should do. He was rigid for a moment debating whether to cover the door or charge in.

The options were quickly changed when a flashing blue car screeched round the corner. Despite himself John almost chuckled at the entrance of Lestrade. The Inspector was looking particularly ragged as he tumbled out the police car. Tumbled being the only word. It was the dusting of sugar round the Inspector's mouth that did it. Lestrade opened his arms in exasperation, the rest of his team piled out and another police car skidded to a halt. Though everyone present seemed in no rush, some in fact looked bored. How many times had they been called out needlessly before because of Sherlock?

A searing crash echoed out from the darkened cafe and pierced the ears of all bystanders. Suddenly the whole pace of the situation changed. People dived into cars to retrieve weapons, Lestrade suddenly became the fearsome boss of the whole operation - ordering people to cover the front and back of the little cafe, he and John poised beside the front. But silence echoed around for a few more agonizing moments.

Sherlock had thrown the chair at the first sign of movement. Of course he hit his target. The man crumpled to the floor.

He drew himself up to his full height. A formidable silhouette to the few members of the gang left. Most had run out at the sound of police cars. Not that Sherlock was listening to the efforts of the police force to stop them. He had faith in John.

He grinned at the two in the doorway, hidden to the side of the counter, who glanced to him then to their crumpled man. He advanced, the wicked grin still dancing on his lips. Only one stumbled forward and raised his fists. Sherlock's grin dropped. The man attempted the same growth as Sherlock, a premature air of confidence oozing from him. Too soon. Sherlock's emotion was back and acting with ease against his pitiful attacker.

Another man down. He raised his eyes back to the second. No mischief this time, just fire.

He scarpered.

Sherlock moved quickly through the once blocked doorway, his breath ragged and scarf ruffled. The small back room was dark only a small pool of light reached through, making everything only shadows.

Only one thing to him wasn't a shadow.

He was on his knees beside Kate almost as soon as he entered the room.

She lay unconscious, her hands tied behind her back making her awkwardly tilt towards him. Her silk pajama top, although a shimmering turquoise in the light was wrinkled and torn, the top buttons ripped away. Sherlock scanned the rest of her. No other attempt had been made. Her collection of curls fanned out behind her, only the single persistent twist clung to her face.

Sherlock lifted her upper body gently off the floor. He guided her head to his shoulder leaning her weight on him, as he tried to undo her bonds. His elegant fingers fumbled with a knot which normally would have taken him seconds, but it wasn't rope holding...

Kate murmured. At the realisation of her body being pressed to another she retracted, attempting to throw her entire weight behind the movement. But Sherlock's grasp was strong and he prevented her from falling. He released her hands and she added them to her fight.

"Kate. Stop."

Her vision cleared. Instead of hitting she clutched to his frozen face, instead of withdrawing she pressed back into his dark coat. Her head found its nest in his shoulder. Her words were muffled mumblings with a constant motif of `you` and `Sherlock`. Her body started to shake with stray tears and heavy breathing.

Sherlock allowed his body to rise and fall with hers, his arms tightly round her, his hands almost grappling with her hair. The pair of them a contrast, his dark figure against her pale shimmering one. He stared as her hand dragged across his chest and looped around his neck. He looked back to her head. Dare he kiss it?

Then, her lips brushed his neck.

It was the smallest of kisses really, but caused him to draw her even closer. He could feel her breath now on his neck, her lips barely away from his skin, unsure whether to do it again.

Suddenly a bang resounded from behind them. Both jolted apart, but managed to stay close for protection.

"Sherlock? Sherlock! Kate!"

"John." The pair breathed smiling at one another. The worry from John's face lifted as he saw the two knelt on the floor.

"Well there's a sight for sore eyes."

Kate continued to grin at him, despite her tear-stained face and as Sherlock turned round to face him, John saw the glint in his eye too.

"Oh am I interrupting something?" He grinned mischievously.

"Oh haha John Watson." Replied Kate, quickly wiping the tears from her cheeks.

John smiled, "Congratulations, you are now one of the only two people who can make jokes at crime scenes. Which is surprising - especially as your the victim."

"Oh, there's nothing wrong with me!" Kate rose to join John and they started to leave.

"Seriously you are OK though?"

"Oh John I'm fine."

"Well, I think someone has called an ambulance anyway."

"Yay, more doctors."

"Hey! There is nothing wrong with doctors...

Their chatter was lost on Sherlock. The skinny light, now Kate had gone, was attracted to the fluttering of a red ribbon. A ribbon used to bound. A ribbon as red as the reddest red rose.

Sherlock clutched it, running it over his fingers. He rose and left.

The reddest ribbon ruffling in his pocket.